Klara heard the dark, tear-soaked woman taking three deep breaths before so much as turning to face her. The anxiety was clear and she new it well from her earlier days as a performer - one does not leap through the air without safety nets and not take a few good breaths. She had a squarish, rounded face but was not unattractive, [b]"Who... who are you?"[/b] Moot almost smiled but stopped herself - grinning to a stranger was rude, she'd look like a madwoman.... At least in Russia, though she supposed it was different here. Then again, a lot of Americans seemed at least halfway insane.

Klara quickly began to sign the letters of her name but paused partway through, thinking better of it and making a waving off motion with the same hand. She doubted the woman new any sign language, frankly. A thoughtful expression crossed her face and then delved into her carry on rucksack. There was suddenly the sound of struggle, crying and screaming in the near distance, Moot slowly looking up to investigate. The violence and desperation unfolding made her jaw harden and eyes go wide with shock as well as anger. She stood slightly as if to move to confront the soldiers but a look at their guns told her this was not the time.

The African-American woman was sobbing again - something about her mother and maybe another family member. Klara quickly produced a pen from her bag and snatched a nearby napkin, scrawling something in her best English. She placed the improvised note in front of Olivia and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

It read: 
[i]Are you alright?

People are idiots,
But I do not think staying with them wise.

Do you want to leave?[/i]